


Shrapnel

by subtlesinner



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Blackhawk - Freeform, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Violence, natasha/steve brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlesinner/pseuds/subtlesinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clint is badly injured during a routine mission, the rest of the team must work together to keep their teammate alive. </p><p>A small section of the Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane is quoted, which, obviously, I do not own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrapnel

The last thing Clint could remember was an explosion; a bright light, a searing blast of pain, and then he couldn't hear anything over the piercing ringing in his ears. He tried to move, to roll over for only a fraction of a second before he decided just how colossally bad of an idea that had been. His hearing started to return, partially, the sounds of chaos fading in and out behind the constant high-pitched tone and pressure in his ears as mortar shells continued to pepper the mountainside around where he lay stranded and bleeding into the dirt.  
"Oh fuck-" He could hear a familiar voice faintly cursing some distance away from him as his vision began silhouetting at the edges. Clint's fingers fumbled as he felt down the side of his torso, attempting to gauge the severity and depth of the hole in the side of his abdomen, feeling a sharp piece of metal embedded deep in the flesh gingerly with his fingertips. When he couldn't muster the strength to dislodge it, he pulled his hands away, realizing how thickly his hands were already smothered in blood when a face swam into view above his. "Barton's down... It's bad-" He could hear the same masculine voice again, tight and stoic, tinged with worry. "We're gonna need emergency evac, ASAP." Captain America barked commands as he bent to his knees, checking Clint's vital signs. "Doctor Banner, he's got part of a mortar casing embedded in his side. I don't know if I'll be able to remove it here in the field. Nat, I'm gonna need you to cover us while I do what I can... He's losing a lot of blood."  
"I'm making my way to you." Natasha said evenly over the communication channel, despite the way her insides felt twisted and wrong.  
"What're my options here, Bruce?" Steve asked, darting his eyes in both directions as he heard another mortar launch. "We're a few hundred yards from the extraction point. I might be able to carry him, but with the shrapnel still in his side-" Steve started, but Banner cut him off quickly.  
"The extraction point is too far. If you remove the shrapnel and try to carry him, he'll risk bleeding out in that distance. Just get as much pressure on the wound as you can to try to minimize the bleeding. I'm already headed toward your location."  
Steve produced a trauma pack from one of the compartments on his belt, tearing open the sterile packaging with his teeth and forcing his weight onto the wound in Clint's side, trying to staunch the flow of blood around the jagged, nasty-looking piece of metal that dug into his flesh angrily.  
The sound Clint made when Steve pressed against the wound made his stomach drop out cold. Steve had known this feeling too many times in the field; he forced the thoughts out of his mind, shaking his head as he tried to re-focus himself. In his current condition, Steve knew moving Clint wasn't ideal, but with enemy fire still bursting on the mountainside around them, he knew the archer wouldn't make it long without evacuation and emergency surgery. Clint's breathing was starting to grow shallow, the tang of iron coating his tongue as he watched everything happening around him in slow motion. He could hear the engine of Natasha's motorcycle fade in for a moment, before her face rippled into his field of vision.  
"Tasha?" Clint tried to say, but the word wouldn't form. Before Clint could try again, Steve shouted and tossed his shield to her, just as a tree splintered fifteen feet to her left.  
"Banner, Stark, where are you?!" Steve sounded choked and desperate now, pressing even harder into Clint's side and eliciting another horrible sounding choked gasp. Clint was growing increasingly pale and cold beneath Steve's fingerless gloves, and panic was starting to grip Steve the longer they sat in the open.  
"I'm clearing my way to your position." Tony Stark's voice, abnormally serious and to-the-point flashed over the communication channel. "Two hundred feet and closing in." Tony reported as he plowed into the ground, ten feet from Steve and Natasha, shooting munitions out of the air above them with tiny blasts from the repulsors on his hands. "Bruce, just get up above us and hover. Jarvis can handle autopilot while you prep for us. Barton's gonna need a transfusion, quick." Tony looked over his shoulder just in time to see Natasha establishing a perimeter with her motorcycle; using Steve's shield as a battering ram, Natasha knocked a squad of Hydra agents back down the rocky hillside they'd just attempted to climb. "Jarvis?"  
"I've contacted Mister Fury and Miss Hill. They are preparing the emergency medical facility for Mister Barton's arrival." The AI paused momentarily. "But, Sir?"  
"Spit it out, Jarvis-" Tony glanced upward impatiently, watching for the Quinjet.  
"Sir, Mister Barton has currently suffered approximately twenty eight percent bloodloss. I fear if he isn't moved with the utmost of caution..."  
"Understood. Send it in." Tony supplied as he closed the remaining distance between he and Clint and Steve, setting his jaw grimly when he noticed just how dark the gauze in Cap's hands was, and how paper-white Clint's face had grown.  
"Where are we with that transfusion prep, Bruce?" Tony asked as the Quinjet dropped a projectile, a new invention of his, which unfolded itself in the air. The light-weight medical sled, snapped together autonomously, landing on the ground in front of Tony, who locked it into position. Natasha and Steve slid Cap's shield under Clint's back, lifting his limp frame and strapping him to the sled as Tony watched the sky. Steve moved to put his shield back on his shoulders, his hands shaking from the warm, sticky film that now covered his gloves, palms and fingers.  
"Transfusion kit is prepped and ready," Bruce sounded calm and controlled despite the stress of the situation. "We're in position above you."  
"Fifty seconds to arrival." Tony grunted as he propelled them in the air, struggling to keep the sled level as he watched a rifle slug sail inches from where Clint's feet had been dangling over the edge of the sled. "Be ready to deploy countermeasures, J, we're drawing some pretty heavy aggro here-" Tony fishtailed to avoid an inbound projectile, his heart leaping in his chest when he saw Clint slump against the sled's restraints. Righting himself quickly, Tony used the momentum to propel the sled into the Quinjet, skidding along behind it as Jarvis clamped the door shut.  
Bruce had prepared a stretcher, waiting just ahead of them where he immediately joined Tony in transferring Clint carefully onto the stretcher in one quick movement. Clint's features had gone a sickly ghost-white, his skin having grown physically cold to the touch with the loss of blood. The gauze Steve had been using in the field had grown a sickening shade of brown-black, no longer useful anymore as Tony finally dared to remove it. He involuntarily sucked in air at the sight of the twisted metal shard embedded deep in the side of Clint's abdomen.  
"Do we know what happened?" Bruce asked, fitting Clint with an IV and beginning the blood-transfusion as Tony quickly shed the remainder of his armor and injected Clint with a high dosage of morphine.  
"Hawkeye and Cap were holding position while Widow and I cleared a path, but they started firing mortars from the valley. I didn't notice them going off until it was too late; Barton got a pretty nasty bit of a shell in his side, there." Bruce grimaced when he took a closer look, cutting the fabric of Clint's vest wider to see the full extent of the damage as they slid the stretcher into a more brightly-lit area. As Bruce continued to examine Clint's abdomen, Tony decided to make himself useful, attaching an oxygen mask to Clint's face and a heart rate monitor to his hand. With a few simple keystrokes, Tony was instructing Jarvis to begin forwarding the information to a remote server halfway around the world.  
"I can provide the basics here, Tony, but... Clint- he's in real bad shape. He needs things I just can't provide here."  
"Mister Fury and Miss Hill have already departed for the nearest ex-SHIELD facility. There is a fully staffed medical team, awaiting Mister Barton's arrival. We should reach the destination in approximately two point five hours." Jarvis supplied, in answer.  
"Two and a half hours... Jarvis, can he last that long?" Tony asked, growing anxious as he scanned the clouded sky ahead of them.  
"Well, Sir, it's difficult to say. If Doctor Banner can remove the obstruction and bind the wound tightly enough, with the transfusion, Mister Barton may be stabilized for long enough to reach the facility and operate, but... the risk is certainly high."  
Tony watched as Bruce picked up a sterile pair of tweezers off the table next to him, nodding at Tony as he bit his lip and lightly nudged the metal piece. Clint's body seized, and he gasped as if the wind had been knocked out of him, moving for the first time in minutes as his breathing turned ragged, and he whimpered in pain.  
"We need to remove it." Bruce urged, "Tony, I'm going to need you to keep him still." Tony's stomach dropped out completely as he grabbed Clint's shoulders and leaned his weight onto them. "Ready?" Bruce asked, to which Tony nodded curtly. On the count of three, Tony pushed as hard as he could, bracing Clint rigidly against the table as Bruce began working the gnarled shrapnel loose.  
"Come on, Barton, work with me!" Tony struggled to hold Clint still, who was thrashing weakly with what remained of his strength, his voice hoarse and choked as he begged them to stop. There were tear tracks streaking through the dirt on Clint's cheeks when Bruce finally nodded at Tony, allowing him to let Clint free. Bruce dropped the tweezers and shrapnel into a basin of water next to them, wetting a clean cloth with cold water and beginning to clean Clint's side thoroughly. The way the wound pooled with blood each time Bruce managed to clear it was beginning to make Tony feel woozy; he stepped into the cockpit of the Quinjet, taking deep, steadying breaths of air as he tried to shake the smell of blood from his nose.  
***  
Natasha weaved left and right between the trees as she sped back up the mountainside, her eyes constantly flicking up until she couldn't see the Quinjet in the distance anymore. Her pulse was racing, adrenaline taking over as she steadied the pistol in her hand, picking off another Hydra agent who was starting to come up behind Steve. She shouted his name as she tossed the shield back at the super soldier; he caught it effortlessly, using the momentum to propel his fist into the face of another goon and knocking the man out cold as Natasha stopped fast next to him.  
"We need to wrap this up." Natasha said, motioning for Steve to climb onto her motorcycle behind her. He shrugged, swinging his leg over and wrapping his arms around her waist as she revved into a quick turn, propelling them back in the direction she'd just come from. "I think I saw a hidden entrance to the warehouse about a half-mile out, camouflaged in the terrain. If they have anything to find, it's got to be there." She spoke through her microphone into Steve's earpiece despite their close proximity, knowing it would be impossible to hear each other over the sounds of mortar fire and wind that whipped past them.  
"Natasha, the security system is still up... They already know we're here! Wouldn't it be better to retreat to the extraction point and try again after we've regrouped?" Natasha didn't answer him, as they continued to dodge between the trees, flying through the rough foliage at break-neck speed. "Natasha!"  
"We finish the mission." Natasha said firmly.  
"But-" Steve started, but Natasha cut him off quickly.  
"We FINISH the mission, Steve!" Natasha yelled, not bothering with the microphone anymore as she crouched down closer to the motorcycle, gaining even more speed as they closed the final gap. She slowed to the quickest stop Steve had ever experienced without having been thrown from a vehicle as he and Natasha slid off the motorcycle, each taking to their unspoken roles as they fell into sync with one another. Natasha picked off enemies with her pistols as Steve broke the lock easily, kicking the heavy door open as Natasha backed up behind him.  
"Shit! Steve-" Natasha cursed; Steve turned to see what Natasha had called him for, grabbing her and pulling her behind him as he saw the small round grenade in front of the building detonate. The blast curled around Steve's shield just enough for them to feel the heat and impact like a shock to the nervous system. The cement shattered beneath their feet with the force of the explosion, causing the thin false foundation to give way to a dark, hidden underground tunnel.  
"Ow..." Natasha moaned, testing her protesting limbs carefully as Steve helped her off the ground where he'd shielded them from most of the blast and rubble. "Sometimes I hate being right."  
***  
Tony watched the miles tick past on the global positioning satellite map Jarvis had displayed on the monitor next to him, wishing the distance values would drop quicker, but knowing full-well that they were already traveling worlds faster than most modern emergency medical helicopters. Tony shook his head, tapping a few short keystrokes to confirm that Jarvis had begun transmitting a live feed of all of Clint's monitoring information to a secure server. As he finished entering commands, a video call notification came up on the screen, 404 UNKNOWN NUMBER scrolled across the display, but Tony had no doubts about who it was as he tapped the screen to answer.  
"I need a status update, Stark." Tony tapped his fingertips against the console, a nervous habit he didn't think he'd ever shake after New York.  
"Bruce is still working, but he's removed the largest of the shrapnel and cleaned the missile wound." Nick's jaw was set tightly as he listened, taking stock of Tony's demeanor as well as the information being relayed to him.  
"Severity?"  
"Well, it's deep, and it looks like there's some possible damage to the organs underneath, which means emergency surgery, as soon as possible. He's already received one blood transfusion, but if the bleeding doesn't slow down soon, he'll need another one before arrival."  
"How far away are you now?" Nick asked, his voice had turned low and serious.  
"We're about an hour and a half out." Tony reported, glancing at the GPS coordinates for what seemed like the hundredth time.  
"I'll beat you by half an hour. I'll make sure the operating team is ready when you get here, Stark. Have you sent any information to the stand-by crew?"  
"Jarvis took care of it already. They know everything we know."  
"Good. Have you heard anything from Rogers or Romanoff?" Tony's stomach dropped for a moment as he realized he'd been so absorbed with Hawkeye that he hadn't heard anything from the remainder of the strike team since having departed with Clint and Bruce.  
"Radio silence on our end." Tony said truthfully, "Which is... oddly disconcerting, now that I think about it. I guess I should probably find out why."  
"I'd recommend it. I'll have Hill send another extraction team to meet you at their last known location, just to be safe."  
***  
Steve and Natasha took their time as they made slow progress through the partially-collapsed tunnel. Their progress was impeded considerably as Natasha had twisted her ankle badly during the collapse. She grimaced as she walked, her steps shuffling together as she tried, in vain, to keep stride with Steve. As soon as he noticed she was struggling, Steve stopped, waiting until she was next to him again before he turned to look at her, his brow crooked slightly with concern.  
"Need a hand?" Natasha shrugged, trying to play it off, but wobbling in place as he stood easily next to her. Hesitantly, Natasha allowed herself to sling one arm over Steve's shoulder, stepping down confidently but faltering despite herself; Natasha cursed internally as Steve coaxed her to lean more weight onto him.  
"Thanks." She said, though it came out a little icier than she'd intended. They continued to shuffle along in silence, wandering blindly through the underground passage until they couldn't move any further, their path impeded by debris; broken concrete, rocks and dirt had rendered the tunnel impassable. Steve ducked beneath Natasha's arm, allowing her to lean against the cold, damp wall as he grasped at one of the outer slabs of broken concrete and pulled with all his strength, but it was heavy, even for a super soldier. Steve groaned as he attempted to push the slab instead, huffing when it remained stubbornly in place. Defeated, Steve sat on the heavy concrete instead, flexing his hands subconsciously as he sighed.  
"I can't seem to get a good grip-" Natasha remained quiet long after he'd said it, her face set in an emotionless mask; Steve didn't realize what he'd done until he re-focused his vision on his hands, sitting palms up in his lap. The blood that had covered his fingers and palms what seemed like hours before had mixed with dirt and dust from the grenade, forming a thin, sickening black-brown paste that caked every inch of his hands. Steve's heart sank as he floundered, trying desperately to be optimistic.  
They sat in silence for a moment longer before Steve finally broke the quiet again, almost kicking himself as he blurted his thoughts aloud, trying his damnedest to remain positive as he felt the negativity of their situation closing in around them.  
"You know he's gonna be fine, right?" Steve asked Natasha awkwardly, not knowing whether or not she would continue to just sit opposite him in silence. Natasha breathed in slowly, her blank facade breaking just long enough for Steve to see doubt and worry in her eyes. If he had blinked, he would have missed it, Steve thought as he continued to observe the redhead carefully.  
"I don't know," She shrugged, her breath catching in her throat as she finally dared to make eye contact with the super soldier. "There was a lot of blood... Too much blood." Natasha swallowed, taking another shallow breath. "I've seen death too often to ignore the signs."  
"From a lesser man, maybe." Steve said, his brows furrowed as he refused to break eye contact with her. "But Barton? He's strong. Barton's a fighter." Steve stood from his seat, stepping closer to Natasha and sliding down the wall next to her. If it were anyone else, Natasha would have widened the distance between them immediately; but, outside of Clint, Steve Rogers was one of the few people she had allowed herself to be open with, and he knew it. "I really don't much about him... I wish I knew more. Hell, I think the only things I really know about Hawkeye is that he's a trustworthy man, and that he's a damned good shot." Natasha smiled slightly to herself, imaging how Clint would have preened at the compliment. "How would you describe him to people who don't know him?" It took Natasha a moment to answer, as she considered the right words to describe her best friend and partner. Clint Barton was an anomaly; a childhood abuse survivor, carnival sideshow act turned professional sniper who was good enough to be called an Avenger aside some of the greatest heroes in the world. But to Natasha, he was so much more than that. Clint's gravelly voice was the last thing she heard at night, and his warm skin was the first thing she felt each morning (whenever they had the time for such frivolity). To Natasha, thinking of Clint was like the feeling after staying awake all night just to see the sun rise: all brilliant colors and pure giddy, exhausted mirth.  
"Clint is difficult to describe. He is a simple man, but he's also very, very complicated at the same time." Natasha said, sniffing once as she leaned her head against Steve's shoulder in a rare display of affection. He lifted his muscular arm over her shoulders, giving her a gentle, platonic squeeze just before Tony's voice cut in through their radio channel, static rendering most of the broadcast to static.  
"Na-t-sha-? Cap? Anyo-- h-ear me ou- th-ere?" The sound caught Steve and Natasha by surprise, Steve springing to his feet as he tried to get better reception from the earpiece.  
***  
Bruce paced back and forth as he watched Clint's vitals scroll across the monitor in front of him. He had changed Clint's bandages twice already, as well as a towel he'd placed beneath him when he'd realized the bandages had soaked through onto the white cotton sheets below. They were getting close now, less than a half an hour's flight away from the emergency landing site, where Nick Fury and a team of Ex-SHIELD medical staff were preparing for their arrival. Bruce was facing the cockpit, his glasses in his hands as he cleaned them. He whirled around on his heel as he heard high-pitched alarm tones emitting from the heart rate monitor attached to Clint's hand, immediately fearing the worst.  
"No, no, no, no, no-" Bruce chanted to himself as he felt Clint's neck carefully. Clint's heart was still beating slowly, weakly, but his skin had grown cold and stiff with dehydration when Bruce pinched it lightly between his fingers. Banner knew the likelihood of Clint going into shock was high, particularly if he was dehydrated, and his blood pressure had dropped as extraordinarily low as it had now. "Come on, come on!" Bruce shouted as he propped Clint's legs up with a small storage crate he'd found somewhere near the rest of the medical gear. Bruce leaned his ear toward Clint's mouth, his stomach dropping further when he felt just how shallow Clint's breathing had become. "Jarvis? How far are we from the medical facility?"  
"Approximately twenty-five minutes to our destination, Doctor Banner." Bruce's heart sank. At the rate Clint's faculties were starting to deteriorate, Bruce worried he wouldn't be quick enough to save Clint on his own.  
"Jarvis, Barton is starting to slip into shock. Do we have any oxygen tanks on-board?" As he asked this, Bruce continued to tend to Clint, feeding a second intravenous needle into his arm to begin a second transfusion, combined with just enough liquids to rehydrate Clint's dehydrated body.  
"Yes, Doctor Banner. There should be an oxygen tank sitting in the loading bay, next to the parachutes." Banner scurried through the Quinjet cargo bay as fast as he could, knocking over equipment as he scrabbled to grab the oxygen tank and rushed back to Clint's side. As he set down the oxygen tank, Bruce was confronted with fear as Clint's chest had completely stopped moving, his breathing no longer present at all. Banner swore loudly as he began to perform chest compressions on Clint's fractured sternum. It only took three sets of compressions, but to Bruce it felt like an eternity as he pumped his fists against Clint's chest rhythmically in time and hoping against all hope that he would be able to take another breath.  
Clint gasped for air, moments later as his heavily lidded eyes sprang open. Bruce leaped backward, pulling his hands away while Clint coughed weakly, confusion, fear and extraordinary pain showing on his face as he tried to sit up out of instinct, but failed.  
"Hey- hey- hey-" Bruce soothed, keeping his hand on Clint's shoulder to keep him from trying to move again. "I'm gonna need you to just lie still for a minute, and try to breathe, Clint." Clint seemed to only half register what was happening, but he closed his mouth and lay still nonetheless. Bruce affixed the mask from the oxygen tank over Clint's mouth and nose, holding it steady as Clint tried his damnedest to focus his thoughts on anything besides the horrible, wrong feeling that had spread throughout his abdomen. His insides burned, and if he dared to tilt his chin, he could see the bandage wrapped around his abdomen slowly growing darker and darker near the white-hot center of the pain he could feel spreading through his midsection. Clint was so light-headed, he only half-believed he was conscious at all during his time on the Quinjet. Bruce began to panic when Clint began closing his eyes, leaning his head back and taking purposefully slow, shallow breaths from the oxygen tank. "Clint?!" Bruce began, but before he could jump to conclusions, Clint lifted his hand up weakly, moving it just enough to let Bruce know he was still conscious.  
"Mmm gettin' dizzy-" Clint mumbled, the lightheadedness having translated quickly into an intense sense of vertigo that threatened to overwhelm him if he kept his eyelids open any longer. "Wha' happen'd?"  
"You were hit by a mortar shell. There was a sizable piece of shrapnel embedded in your side, and after Mister Stark and Doctor Banner removed it, you fell into shock. A combination of low blood pressure due to blood loss mixed with severe dehydration. You've been unconscious for quite some time, but after receiving CPR when you completely stopped breathing, you actually seem to be rather lucid." Jarvis had piped in, but Clint didn't seem to absorb any of what had been said. Instead, Bruce gently touched Clint's elbow, allowing Clint to open his eyes long enough to focus on Bruce's face as he told him,  
"We're about twenty minutes away from the medical team. Nick and Maria will be waiting for us." Clint nodded, breathing deeply as he closed his eyes once again. Bruce waited for Clint to collect himself again before continuing, "You are going to need emergency surgery immediately once we land; there is damage I could not repair to your lower intestine, and there are still quite a few small pieces of shrapnel still inside the muscle tissue of your abdomen." Clint screwed his eyes shut again, his jaw clamping tightly as pain shot through his midsection once more. He could feel himself losing strength with each passing moment as he continued to bleed slowly through the bandages, and he was feeling excessively cold in all of his extremities.  
"Everything's going to be alright, Clint." Bruce continued to soothe, injecting another dosage of anesthetic into Clint's IV, causing Clint's pupils to grow dilated; his vision clouded quickly as he continued to hold his eyelids open weakly. "Jarvis, can you place a call to the number Fury dialed from a couple of hours ago?" Bruce unfurled a rough blanket and laid it over Clint when he noticed him starting to shiver slightly.  
"The telephone line Former Director Fury called from was encrypted, I'm afraid, Doctor Banner." Bruce sighed heavily, watching Clint nervously as his eyelids finally slid closed and his breathing grew slow and even. "What about Maria? Do we have any way to contact Maria Hill?" It only took Jarvis a few seconds before he pulled up a window with the text "ENCRYPTED LINE - 1050 SIP" scrolling across it as a dial tone played through a small speaker.  
"Doctor Banner?" Maria Hill's voice was hurried, concern evident when Bruce cut her off quickly. "What's going on, we saw the readings drop-"  
"Barton and I are still about fifteen minutes out. He just went into shock; his blood pressure is dropping too low, and his faculties are starting to shut down."  
"Shit." Maria cursed, "How bad?"  
"I've already had to resuscitate him once; he stopped breathing on me for a couple of seconds before I called. I've got him breathing on an oxygen tank now, but he's got to be in an incredible amount of pain. He's finishing his second transfusion as we speak, and I've given him an anesthetic to prep him for the surgery, but," Bruce sighed, panic rising in his chest as he noticed a small, dark dot beginning to gather on the blanket tucked around Clint's midsection. "The bleeding isn't slowing down on its own."  
"We've got the OR prepped and ready." Maria said urgently. "The next fifteen minutes are going to be critical. Can you apply any pressure to it, to try to slow the bleeding?" Bruce tried to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat.  
"When Tony and I tried it earlier, Barton tried to break free. The shrapnel in his side widened the wound by a few millimeters, but it caused some of the pieces to sink deeper into the muscle tissue. They're in too close of proximity to his internal organs, any more and..." He grimaced. "I honestly don't know which is more dangerous at this point."  
"Understood." Maria sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "You just have to get through the next fifteen minutes, Bruce." She almost seemed to plead when she said it. "You can do it. What remains of SHIELD will thank you."  
"I'll do my best." Bruce replied, his eyes flicking back and forth between Clint and the monitor. "We'll be there soon."  
***  
Tony flew overtop of the forest, skimming along the tree-tops until he saw a massive cluster of Hydra agents digging into a collapsed building with anything they could get their hands on: spades, helmets and picks had made considerable progress into the mix of shattered concrete, dirt and dust that blocked the tunnel Tony could see mapped out in a neon blue projection below them. From Tony's judgement, they were about to break into it at any moment.  
"Guys?" Tony tried, broadcasting his voice over their communication channel and praying they weren't buried alive under all those Hydra agents. "Natasha? Cap? Anybody hear me out there?" Through the static, Tony could hear Steve faintly reply.  
"St-rk! I ca- he-r -ou, c-an you h-ear m-?" Tony flew a little lower, spinning to avoid a projectile that whizzed past his elbow haphazardly as he rolled and detonated the payload with a quick repulsor blast.  
"That would be an affirmative, Captain!" Tony continued zigzagging through the air, firing repulsor blasts into the Hydra agents to stall their progress as long as possible. "I'm going to go ahead and venture a guess that you and Widow are trapped in the underground tunnel?" Tony sounded unamused as he said it.  
"It sounded like a good idea at the time," Steve sounded unconcerned as he heard the sounds of mayhem a few hundred feet behind and above them. "In retrospect, we've had better plans." Tony huffed as he re-directed a projectile back at what remained of the Hydra battalion, breaking through the last of the rubble at the same time. Tony scanned the horizon, noting the proximity of another heavily armed Hydra team that was heading their direction at an alarming pace.  
"Jarvis, any news on Hill's second extraction team that's supposed to be headed our way?" Tony asked his AI quickly as he approached the pile of rubble at top speed, maneuvering the tight curve as easily as threading a needle.  
"According to Mister Wilson, they should be arriving momentarily." Jarvis replied into Tony's earpiece.  
"Glad to hear it." Tony replied quickly, before switching his communications back to the team channel. "Steve, where are you guys? I cleared a path, but we don't have much time."  
"We're about a quarter mile south." Steve said, describing what he could remember about the tunnel to Tony.  
"Ok, I think I'm almost to you. Are you two ready to run? Falcon is inbound with another Quinjet for extraction."  
"I can run, but Natasha hurt her ankle." Steve started, but Natasha waived him off, hoisting herself off the ground and testing the limb gingerly. The muscles hurt as they stretched taught, but she refused to be treated as a damsel in distress.  
"It's only a quarter mile." Natasha said, steeling herself for what lie ahead of them. "I can run."  
"As long as you two can reach me, I can lift us enough to reach the extraction team." Tony replied easily, continuing to close the gap between them.  
"Are you sure about this?" Steve asked her carefully, eyeing her body language as she placed her full bodyweight on the injured ankle, her face looking suddenly sour.  
"I'm fine. Let's just get this over with." Natasha said, firing into a full sprint. It took Steve only a fraction of a second to catch up to her, keeping his stride even with her slightly slower-than-average gait. All Natasha could focus on as they ran was finally hearing a status update about her partner's condition. Images of Clint's ghostly-white face flecked with little spots of his own blood played in her mind's eye like some kind of horrifying film reel stuck on repeat. She nearly stumbled, Steve preparing himself to catch her if she fell without breaking stride, but she didn't end up needing it as she continued pushing off the ground with the stronger foot. It only took them a few minutes of sprinting before Steve and Natasha finally met up with Tony toward the mouth of the tunnel.  
"Alright, folks, let's get the hell out of here!" Tony exclaimed as he wrapped an arm around each of them, Steve and Natasha holding on for dear life as Tony lifted them off the ground carefully. "Falcon, we are in the air, where are you?"  
"Coming up beside you," Sam Wilson replied as he twisted into a roll in the air, dodging a projectile expertly and firing back at its source. "I can take one of them, if you want. The Quinjet is just past the valley." He flew level next to Tony, scooping Natasha into his arms as her grip began to slide. Tony took the opportunity to get a better grip on Steve as they continued to weave through the air opposite each other. "Follow me, Stark. It's just up ahead, now."  
"After you." Tony obliged, following Sam as he started to descend into a clearing in the woods, setting Natasha down carefully as the Quinjet loading door opened for them. All four Avengers boarded the aircraft hurriedly, closing the door behind them as they lifted off the ground in a hurry.  
"Where are we headed?" Tony asked quickly, removing his helmet to speak unimpeded.  
"That's really up to you." Falcon shrugged, "Jarvis is piloting, so you can tell him where you want to go. Our original flight plan was to head back to New York, but..." He trailed off momentarily. "I know you must be worried about Barton. We can head for his location instead, if you'd like." Natasha bit her lip, but remained silent as she tried to analyze Sam's body language when he talked about Clint.  
"Jarvis, can we get a status update on Barton's condition?" Tony asked, already keying in commands on a computer setup identical to the Quinjet he'd been traveling in with Bruce and Clint.  
His heart raced as the catalogued data from the past few hours scrolled across the monitor, major fluctuations in blood pressure and heart rate until... Tony sucked in a breath when he saw a momentary flatline, followed by a spike in activity.  
"Sir," Jarvis began, broadcasting himself for all the passengers to hear. "Doctor Banner has just finished transporting Mister Barton from the Quinjet into the medical facility. Mister Barton is being prepped for emergency surgery to remove the remainder of the shrapnel and to repair his damaged internal organs as we speak." Tony finally remembered to breath again before daring to ask, "So we're in the clear? He's gonna make it, right?" Tony asked, almost wishing he hadn't as it took Jarvis a moment to answer.  
"Mister Barton is not out of the woods, just yet, I'm afraid." Jarvis said, as apologetically as an artificial intelligence could sound, "His faculties have begun failing at an alarming rate. He's fallen into shock due to low blood pressure, and he's already received two blood transfusions." Natasha's heart rate had climbed drastically. Steve was standing next to her, his eyes trained on her face as she hung on Jarvis's every word. "Emergency surgery is going to be key to his survival. It is vital that they stop the bleeding, if they don't, I'm afraid Mister Barton will not live through the night."  
***  
Bruce walked brusquely, pushing the rack that held Clint's IV fluids next to the stretcher as a massive group of doctors and nurses rushed to greet them at the steel barricaded door. Clint's skin had regained just a little of its color as a result of the second transfusion, but he'd already bled through the bandage and into the blanket he'd been wrapped tightly in for the last fifteen minutes, which made Bruce particularly worried as he finally caught sight of Nick Fury walking toward him from the other end of the long, narrow hallway.  
"Doctor Banner." Fury nodded as Bruce allowed one of the nurses to take over pushing Clint's IV fluids along as they swept him into the operating room the two men stood just outside, a large glass window sitting between them and the sterile environment. "I'm impressed. You've done very well."  
"I just did what I could to help a good man not lose his life today." Bruce replied curtly, his eyes focused sharply on the group of surgeons that were already removing Clint's soiled bandages and examining the wound as they prepared to operate. "And even that's not guaranteed yet." Banner sighed bitterly. "What's the status on the rest of the team?" Bruce asked suddenly, deliberately turning away as the surgeons began cutting into Clint's abdomen in his peripheral vision. Maria Hill had joined them, standing next to Fury with her eyes trained on the surgical team as she explained,  
"Falcon met up with them at the secondary extraction point a few minutes ago. They're headed our way now, but, as you know, it's going to be a couple of hours before they get here." Bruce's eyes were trained on the monitors now, watching as Clint's heart rate slowed slightly while a petite female surgeon carefully picked through the thick, dark blood and torn muscle tissue of his abdomen with fine-point tweezers, removing four or five tiny pieces of mortar shell that had splintered off the original shrapnel as Clint had struggled in the Quinjet. The wound itself spanned four inches, on the left side of Clint's abdomen, beginning just above the top of his hip bone, and deeper than any wound Bruce had seen someone survive before.  
The surgeries lasted hours longer than Bruce had originally anticipated, as the surgical team decided the trauma to Clint's intestine was severe enough to warrant removing a small section of it and stitching it back together before sewing the wound shut and finally slowing down the bleeding significantly. Bruce had settled in a chair next to the glass window, his head yoyoing back and forth as he couldn't stop his eyes from closing. Sleep was overtaking him rapidly, the weight and struggle of the day finally taking it's toll on him as he drifted off to sleep. It seemed like the next time he blinked, the rest of the team burst through the heavy door, moving as quickly as possible as they crossed the hallway, only noticing they'd woken Bruce once they stopped long enough to see where they were. Natasha stood, rooted to the spot in horror as she saw Clint lying so still on the operating table, his skin so pale, and eyes sunken with exhaustion as the surgeons finished stitching the massive wound shut and cleaning the thick sutures carefully.  
"How is he?" Steve asked Bruce with concern, settling a hand on Natasha's shoulder as he stood next to her and watched the doctors finish inspecting Clint and treating some of his other, minor injuries before finally slowly moving him to another wing of the facility.  
"They had to remove a two-inch section of Barton's intestines that were deemed damaged beyond repair." Nick Fury's serious voice said from behind them, causing the group to turn quickly to face him. Maria Hill stood at his side once again, greeting the team with a curt nod before turning and walking in the direction the surgeons had taken Clint in. "With a lot of recovery time and physical therapy, barring any major infection, he should make it out of this without any permanent damage."  
"Besides a pretty wicked scar-" Tony cut in, in his usual fashion, but Fury ignored him and continued.  
"He has a long road ahead of him, but as we all know, Barton's nothing, if not stubborn." The rest of the group chuckled with relief, Steve squeezing Natasha's shoulder gently as they finally collectively remembered to breathe. Tony was shaking Bruce's hand enthusiastically and thumping him on the back congratulatorily as Natasha remained standing in place, her eyes still fixed on the operating table that was now being cleaned by a pair of nurses. The linens on the table were still stained with the deep,rown-red blood that had flooded out of Clint uncontrollably for the last few consecutive hours, and regardless of what the others had said, Natasha couldn't rid herself of the nagging, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
"Natasha," Steve leaned toward her, speaking gently, "There's a small cafeteria down the hallway. Doctor Banner is going lead us there. Would you like to join us? Or, can I get you something? I don't think Clint will be awake for at least a couple hours-"  
"I'm not hungry." Natasha interrupted him, her features still solemn. Fury had been standing just close enough to hear the exchange between the two; he patted Steve on the shoulder, effectively dismissing the Captain and taking his place next to Natasha.  
"Thanks, Rogers," Fury's ordinarily rough features softened considerably as he stood next to the redhead. "But I think Natasha and I are going to hang back for a moment." Steve nodded, despite feeling slightly rejected. He jogged to catch up with Sam, Tony and Bruce who were already halfway down the twisting hallway, Tony and Bruce talking animatedly about something scientific Steve couldn't understand, and Sam just smiling and laughing along. When Fury and Natasha were the only people within earshot, it was Fury finally broke the silence between them. "You know, Natasha, today could have gone a lot of ways." His voice was soft and kind as he spoke to her, a drastic contrast to his usual gruff, no-nonsense demeanor. "SHIELD almost lost one of its very best assets," he began, before adding, "But more importantly, a lot of people nearly lost someone very dear to them. And I'm included among that group." Fury sighed heavily as he watched Natasha's shining eyes twitch involuntarily. She was so angry with herself, with the way she'd grown so vulnerable, first in front of Steve and now Fury, all in the same day. Despite it all, her heart physically ached at the very real thought of losing the most important person she'd ever known. Immediately her mind raced for something different, anything besides these thoughts that made her insides burn.  
"Sir." Natasha struggled to keep her voice even. "We weren't able to complete the mission."  
"So we'll have to regroup and try again when the time is right." Fury said dismissively, "Stop trying to deflect and focus on what's really important here, Romanoff." There was concern in Fury's eye as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "This is coming from a friend, not a commanding officer. Natasha, you're one of the most professional agents I've ever had the pleasure of working with," Fury continued, "But that doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel things, too. I know you and Barton are..." He struggled for a word before settling awkwardly on "Close... to each other." Natasha avoided his gaze as best she could. "It's more than understandable to be rattled after a day like today." Finally, she turned her face toward him, a tear tracing a wet trail down her cheek as she nodded back at him, speechless.  
"Understood." She started, her tears breaking into a small smile as she shook her head at him in bewilderment. "Thank you, Nick."  
"Now, were you ever going to tell anyone that you were also hurt?" Natasha shifted uncomfortably, as if to deny his claims. "Don't act like you haven't been favoring your right side the entire time we've been standing here." She grimaced, her eyes pointed back into the now empty operating room, the lights having been shut off in front of them. "Has anyone taken a look at it yet?"  
"Steve wrapped it for me on the Quinjet, but..." Natasha wobbled slightly as she tried to shift her weight onto the injured ankle. "I'm starting to think it might be more serious than I previously thought." Nick rolled his eyes, extending his arm for Natasha to lean on as he steered her down the hall in the direction Maria had disappeared earlier.  
***  
Forty-three hours had passed before Clint was finally allowed to wake from his medically induced coma. The surgeons had done everything within their power to fight off any complications that could arise from the major surgery he'd just undergone. Natasha was the first to be allowed to sit with him after he'd been out of surgery for twelve hours; she'd been treated for a torn ligament in her ankle, a boot and crutch helping facilitate her independence. Steve continued to remain nearby, helping Natasha when she needed it, but it made her feel guilty whenever he took time out of his day to grab her a cup of coffee, or a book to read. By the morning of the second day, Bruce and Tony had said their goodbyes and parted ways with the team, headed back to New York to return to their day-to-day routines. Steve and Sam were spending their spare time on a manhunt of their own, which meant they could work on their tracking wherever they saw fit; Natasha didn't realize that meant that Captain America would be babysitting her until he deemed her fit to take care of herself. Natasha had been napping when the nurses came to change over Clint's IV fluids. They were finally transitioning him from the sedative he'd been heavily dosed with for the last two days to a lower dosage painkiller that would leave him drowsy, but conscious. The nurses warned her that it could still take him up to an additional twelve hours to come out of it on his own.  
"That being said," One of the short, round female nurses pulled back the blanket that had been tucked around Clint's chest and midsection and peeled back the gauze that had been taped over his sutures. Natasha's body tensed as she noticed the small dots of blood that had seeped into the pad, the nurse clucking her tongue at him as she cleaned the wound with a sterile antiseptic and taped a clean gauze pad over the area once again. "Mister Barton's no ordinary man. Sometimes patients come around sooner rather than later, especially if they can hear a familiar voice." Natasha bit her lip. She didn't want to build her hopes up and then be horribly disappointed, but the thought of actually hearing Clint's voice again made her stomach clench painfully against her will.  
"That's wonderful to hear. Thank you." Natasha said evenly, sighing as the nurse cleaned up the medical supplies and disposed of them in the sterile bins across the room.  
"If you need anything to eat yet tonight, Miss Romanoff, I suggest you head down to the cafeteria soon. The late shift will be closing up shop soon. There's still one nurse who will be doing the rounds tonight, so you can definitely buzz the nurse's station if something doesn't look right." Her features dropped slightly when she said it, but only until she continued. "Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning. We'll be back to check his vitals around 0800." Natasha nodded gratefully, watching as the nurse stepped out into the hall, speaking briefly with Steve and Sam as they passed her.  
"Hey, we heard the good news." Sam greeted Natasha as he slowly opened the door to Clint's room, "How long do you think it'll be before he wakes up on his own?" Natasha shrugged, accepting the cup of coffee that Steve had extended to her gratefully and sipping at the steaming hot cup carefully.  
"She said it could be a while yet," Natasha said after burning her tongue accidentally. "But she also said talking to him can help. Something about a familiar voice... I think I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll probably just spend the night in here again tonight." Natasha stretched, her back aching from sleeping in a chair the previous night, but she refused to leave Clint's side whenever possible.  
"I'm headed to the Quinjet for the night." Sam motioned, offering, "There are extra cots out there, if you change your mind about sleeping in something besides a stiff chair."  
"I'll be fine." Natasha answered.  
"Well, I'm going to grab something to eat while the cafeteria's still open. Do you want anything?" Steve asked, despite the fact that he'd literally just handed her a cup of coffee to drink.  
"No thanks, Steve. I'm alright, really." She gave them a small smile that only felt about half genuine as the two men quietly let themselves out of Clint's room, closing the door behind them. Natasha sighed, rubbing her hand along her tired neck as she slowly made her way across the room and into the bland, white hospital bathroom. Taking her time, Natasha stepped cautiously and carefully into the shower, allowing the hot water to cascade over her and soothe some of the aches she'd been suffering from for the last few days. She wished badly that she could have had her favorite french body soap to wash with, Clint having told her many times just how much he loved the way it smelled on her skin; in comparison, the generic bar of soap that sat in the shower felt almost barbaric as it stuck to her skin and made her feel as if she would never get all of it off. She combed her fingers through her hair in the spray of the water, pulling the soap through her hair unceremoniously and rinsing it clean just as quickly.  
She almost lost her balance as she stepped out of the shower, forgetting about her ankle until she rested too much weight on it and stumbled forward. She cursed to herself, leaning heavily on the counter ahead of her as she suddenly realized she could hear something from the next room, what sounded like a man's voice reverberating through the silent room. She couldn't understand what was being said, but Natasha could definitely hear the masculine tone from outside the door. Drying herself and dressing quickly, Natasha dared to crack the bathroom door open, breathing deeply when she realized it was Steve's voice she'd heard. Steve Rogers was sitting in her chair near Clint's bed, reading aloud from the book he'd brought her earlier in the day. She stood in the bathroom doorway and just watched him for a moment, her arms crossed over her stomach as she listened to Steve's calm, even voice as he read from the book; Natasha couldn't remember what he'd given her, she'd been too distracted to even open it before.  
"It rained. The procession of weary soldiers became a bedraggled train, despondent and muttering, marching with churning effort in a trough of liquid brown mud under a low, wretched sky." Natasha cleared her throat to alert him to her presence; Steve glanced up at her, but continued reciting the passage he'd been reading, raising one eyebrow as she smiled at him. "Yet the youth smiled, for he saw that the world was a world for him, though many discovered it to be made of oaths and walking sticks. He had rid himself of the red sickness of battle. The sultry nightmare was in the past..." Steve continued reading as Natasha made her way across the room, settling into a chair next to Steve and watching intently as he closed the book and finished the passage from memory. "He had been an animal blistered and sweating in the heat and pain of war. He turned now with a lover's thirst to images of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks, an existence of soft and eternal peace." The last few words hung in the air for a moment before Steve smiled sheepishly, shrugging when Natasha started to laugh, musically, for the first time in days.  
"Steve, you really don't have to-" Natasha started to say, but Steve lifted his hand to interrupt her. He smiled, leaning back in his chair a little further as he set the book gently on Clint's bedside table.  
"I know it's not necessarily a familiar voice, but I figured it couldn't hurt to give it a try." Natasha sighed, shaking her head in disbelief at him, unsure of exactly what to say.  
"Ah- But, if I'm intruding-" Steve added cautiously. Natasha laughed, shaking her head.  
"Not at all. It was beautiful." Natasha said. "What book?" Steve smiled and looked down at his lap, slightly embarassed as he answered.  
"Oh, it's, uh, The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. It was one of my favorite novels growing up." His smile dropped, just a little as he continued the thought. "Bucky bought it for me when we were kids... I must've read it a hundred times. I bought a copy of it shortly after I'd been unfrozen, but until now... I honestly hadn't been able to will myself to start reading it again." He sighed, standing from his chair and stretching his tired muscles. "I, uh, I think I'm going to go join Sam in the bunks pretty shortly. Do you need anything else?"  
"I think I'll be falling asleep pretty soon as well, but thanks for the offer." Natasha said, sincerely. "It means a lot, Steve."  
"Don't hesitate to let me know if anything changes, alright? Good night, Natasha." Steve added, before ushering himself out of Clint's room. Natasha was floored by what had just happened. Never once, had she ever considered that there would be a time in her life when America's poster child would go so far out of his way to help someone he considered a friend.  
***  
Natasha dozed off and on through the night, slumped forward in a chair pulled close to Clint's bedside, her fingers loosely intwined with his. Sometime within the early hours before dawn, Natasha twitched awake from a dream, gasping sharply for breath as her eyes sprang open. Natasha's heart skipped a beat as she heard Clint's voice for the first time in days, his voice gravelly and dry with disuse.  
"Natasha," He coughed with the effort, hissing when his body tried to curl in on itself involuntarily.  
"Hey," Natasha replied, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow as she smiled at him. "Let me get you something to drink-" There was a glass of water with a lid and straw sitting on the table next to Steve's book; Natasha silently thanked the nurse who'd left it there, picking up the water and handing it to Clint, who held it upright awkwardly as he continued to lie in the bed.  
"I, uh... I think I'm gonna need some help, here." Clint said, a hint of embarassment on his face. Natasha leaned over him, helping Clint to ease himself into a seated position and stacking pillows behind him. "Ah- ah- easy!" Clint groaned as she helped him move, finally settling into the pillows once more and gulping water down gratefully.  
"Clint, be careful-" Natasha lifted her hand to stop him right as he choked, coughing, spluttering and gasping in pain as his muscles strained once more. Natasha grabbed the glass of water from him and set it on the table next to them carefully. After settling for a moment, Clint finally spoke again, his voice less rough as he grimaced. "Do I even want to know the full damage report?" Natasha sighed, listing off Clint's injuries and counting them on her fingers.  
"Fractured sternum, three broken ribs, bruised tailbone, some internal bleeding, and the shrapnel from the mortar almost completely severed your small intestine. You had to have some pretty extensive emergency surgery; they removed a small section that they couldn't repair, but thankfully, it missed your large intestine by a hair." Clint's face had turned horribly sour as she'd been listing, his eyes staring down at his lap when she mentioned the surgical procedure. He laughed bitterly without looking at her, "No wonder I feel like shit." His negative statement hung in the air, making Natasha's stomach drop.  
"You're lucky to be alive, Clint." Natasha said, her fingers stroking his hand. "You ought to take Doctor Banner for a round at the bar sometime. He kept you from flatlining when you fell into shock, which was no easy feat. You were bleeding so much he had to give you two separate blood transfusions."  
"That so?" Clint asked bitterly, still unable to look Natasha in the eyes. She sat, continuing to stroke his hand with her fingertips, just letting him vent out his frustrations as she listened sympathetically.  
"And... the rest of the mission?" Natasha's stomach dropped uncomfortably, as she knew what was going to happen when she answered him. "What happened while I was out?"  
"Stark helped Banner get you stabilized while Steve and I tried to clear a way into a bunker I had seen when I cleared a path the first time around. It was camoflaged sloppily, and I thought it looked suspicious. The Hydra agents ended up fragging the entrace just after we'd broken in and the impact knocked out the false foundation right from under our feet. Steve and I got buried in a hidden tunnel. We tried to explore it until we hit the other side... It'd been buried, too. We couldn't get out until Tony came back and helped us evac." Clint's fists were gripped so tight that the skin on his knuckles had turned white.  
"So, we didn't clear the encampment, or find the intel." Clint's voice was low as anger and frustration colored his features. Natasha shook her head, her eyes firmly fixed on their hands instead of Clint's eyes; she couldn't stand to see the disappointment and frustration written on his face.  
"Unfortunately, no."  
"And, now they know we've got our sights set on them."  
"Suppose so," Natasha conceded, shrugging her shoulders. "Just means we'll have to wait it out, take our time and strike again when it feels right." She finally dared to glance at Clint's face again. He still looked angry, but she could see some of his sharp features softening as he looked back at her, knowing she was doing her best to cheer him up, despite himself. She handed him the glass of water again, which he drank much slower this time. He'd finished the small glass in another few gulps, making sure to breathe deeply in between sips. "Would you like any more?" Natasha asked, extending her hand to accept the empty cup from him and standing to make her way across the room toward the bathroom sink.  
"Tasha-" Natasha could have beat her fist against her forehead as she remembered Clint hadn't known about her ankle injury as she'd leaned on the crutch for support. "What happened to you?" His hands raised slowly to the back of his neck, pointing his elbows out awkwardly as he fell into a panic; confusion on his face, Clint's breath came only in shallow gasps, and his heart rate sped up involuntarily causing the monitor to chirp piercingly at him. "This is all my fault-"  
"What?" Natasha set the glass back down next to them haphazardly, settling on the bed next to him and trying to calm him down in one fluid movement. "How could you possibly think you're responsible for this, Clint? It was an accident! You weren't even around when it happened!"  
The night-shift nurse came flying through the door of Clint's room, immediately brushing Natasha off the bed and out of the way to check Clint's vitals. She shined a flashlight on his pupils, observing the dilation whilst greeting him cheerfully at the same time.  
"Good morning, Mister Barton, it's lovely to see you awake." When he didn't respond to her, the nurse continued the rest of her assessment quickly, finally stepping back to allow him some space. "Could you take some slow, deep breaths for me? Your heart rate is spiking higher than we'd prefer after the trauma you suffered. We need to get it to slow down a little bit." She turned to face Natasha now as Clint continued to breathe in short, shallow bursts; the heart rate monitor continued to chirp, high pitched and threatening in the quiet of the night.  
"We were just, uh, talking about what happened on the mission; I- I think he's having a panic attack-" Natasha told her outright, trying not to see the small look of betrayal on Clint's face as she reported his reactions to their conversation to the nurse. The nurse guided Clint through some deep breathing as she located a low-dosage anti-anxiety medication for him; he refused it at first, trying to convince them that he would be fine without it. Natasha stared him down until he finally conceded, taking the pill with the fresh glass of ice water the nurse had also supplied him with. Clint scowled as he immediately began to feel drowsy as the medication kicked in quickly, his eyelids growing droopy once again.  
"I know you don't want to fall asleep again, Mister Barton, but we need to make sure you are stable before you're able to remain conscious for longer periods of time. Go ahead and get some rest now, and we'll wake you in a few hours to see how you're feeling." Clint nodded slowly, blinking his eyes open and shut as his brows furrowed, and sleep began to overcome him all over again. Natasha felt absolutely terrible, guilt choking her lightly as she watched his chest rising and falling slowly in time.  
***  
After the night-shift nurse had finally deemed Clint alright to sleep again, she wandered through the dark halls and back to the nurse's station, leaving Natasha to sit in the darkness of Clint's room with nothing but her thoughts as she sat with her head in her hands. She watched the outline of Clint's chest as it continued to rise and fall in the dim, pre-daybreak light that was beginning to creep slowly through the corner of the window. She sighed, forcing herself to stand; before she knew it, she was stealing noiselessly through the dark hallway despite the boot that was still wrapped tightly around her quickly healing ankle. She slid a metal door open, it's hinges creaking ever so slightly before she eased the door closed behind her, the night air ruffling through her hair as she was greeted by a muggy tropical breeze. Natasha was surprised to see the Quinjet loading door sitting open on the helipad in the early morning light, with Steve dozing near one of the hydraulic legs of the door with his arms cradled behind his head, one leg slung over the side of the ramp. Natasha stepped a little heavier, allowing the boot on her foot to tap rhythmicly as she walked across the helipad toward him; Steve cracked one eye, tilting his head in her direction and immediately sitting up, awake.  
"Hey," He greeted, scrubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands and blinking blearily at her.  
"Hey." Natasha replied awkwardly. She really couldn't nail down exactly why she'd thought this was a good idea, but she was already there at the Quinjet, and Steve's concerned gaze made her feel all the more like breaking down. "Clint's, uh..." She started, swallowing and trying to collect herself before she started again, "He was awake... for a little while, anyway." Steve's brows furrowed as Natasha tried to laugh it off, but her voice cracked involuntarily. "He woke up and we talked for a little bit; about what happened to him, and what happened while he was unconscious. He was pretty with-it, despite the sedation." She shrugged, still trying to keep her voice even. "He- uh... He had a panic attack when he saw the boot on my foot. I was stupid- I had forgotten about it, and didn't tell him, and he saw it when I got up to get him a glass of water."  
"Natasha-" Steve sounded apologetic, wrapping one arm around her shoulders as he eased them both to sit on the open Quinjet ramp.  
"They had to sedate him again to drop his heart rate. He was still bleeding a little when they changed his bandages earlier, and I think they're worried he'll go into shock again." Small tears were running over now, but Natasha no longer cared. Steve had pulled his arm around her shoulders, allowing Natasha to lean against him as he traced gentle circles on her shoulder with his thumb. She sniffed appreciatively, swiping a hand under her nose as she finally moved out from under his arm; Steve let her go, continuing to sit quietly next to her as she regained her composure.  
"It's never easy, watching someone you care about, confined to a hospital bed. It makes you feel powerless in a way you never thought you could before." Steve sighed heavily, exchanging a knowing glance with Natasha before adding, "Clint's got a long way to go, but he's going to get there." Natasha nodded, sniffling once more as she cracked a smile at Steve. She couldn't believe just how legitimately thankful she was that he was there for her, when she felt like she couldn't talk to Clint.  
"You know, I never understand why you go so far out of your way for people you don't even know." Steve raised an eyebrow as he looked back at her, sighing as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees.  
"We've been through this before, Natasha. You're my friend, and one of the few people I can talk to comfortably, if I'm being brutally honest," Natasha was just slightly taken aback as she heard Steve's confession, watching him intently as he continued. "And everybody knows that Clint is important to you. If you two are close, I figure Barton's got to be a pretty good person, and a valuable member of the team."  
"Yeah, well, prepare to be disappointed." Natasha laughed genuinely, her cheeks tightening into a smile as she absorbed the meaning of Steve's words. "Clint's one of the best snipers I've ever met, don't get me wrong... But he's not exactly the pope, or anything." Steve chuckled, shaking his head thoughtfully.  
"I wouldn't ever expect him to be," Their laughter had grown louder than they'd intended, Natasha clamping her hands over her mouth as she heard Sam groan from his bunk inside the Quinjet.  
"It's too damned early for you two to be awake and laughing so loud, you damn fools!" Sam shouted, his voice grumpy and teasing at the same time. "Either go back to sleep, or take a walk!" Natasha could hear him roll over, attempting to fall back asleep as the sun finally began to break over the horizon.  
***  
At Steve's request, Natasha conceded to sleeping in the Quinjet until the nurses came round for Clint's early morning check-up. Steve dozed lightly in a chair in the corner of Clint's room, alerting Natasha over a comm line as soon as the nurses entered Clint's room; the nursing staff was kind enough to wait to wake Clint until Natasha had joined them. She leaned against the wall next to the window, watching Clint carefully and trying to repress the flashes of gut-wrenching panic Clint fallen into the last time he was conscious played over and over in her head. Steve was standing next to her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall beside her.  
"Ok, we're going to go ahead and try to wake him, now." The night-staff nurse said, her chipper attitude apparently having survived the long shift as she started to touch Clint's shoulder, his forearms, his face, as she spoke to him. It wasn't long before Clint's eyes sprang open, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings."Mister Barton? Can you hear me? Are you awake?" It took him a moment to register what she'd asked him, Clint nodded after he blinked once more, finally settling his sights on Natasha just to his right, against the wall and breathing deeply. "How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain right now?"  
"Not to sound like an asshole or anything," Clint sighed, his voice still sounding dry and rough with neglect, "But, I just took a mortar head-on... I'd like to meet the person who isn't in a lot of pain after that..." Natasha rolled her eyes, a small smile cracking on her face. "But in all seriousness, I feel pretty shitty."  
"I'll make sure to bring you another painkiller as soon as I can-" The nurse began, but Clint raised his hand slowly to interrupt her.  
"Do it if you have to, but do you have anything lower dosage? I hate feeling fuzzy." The nurse thought a moment before shrugging.  
"I'm not quite convinced that aspirin's going to do the trick for you just yet, Mister Barton-"  
"Please, call me Clint." He interrupted again. "And just give me whatever you have, then. I'll deal with the side effects, I guess."  
"I'll see what I can find... Clint." The nurse giggled nervously, which merited another eye-roll from Natasha as the nurse finished up her examination of Clint, passing on orders to the rest of the nurses who'd accompanied her.  
When the nurses had finally left, Steve leaned forward, inclining his head toward the door as he made brief eye contact with Clint, who appeared genuinely surprised to see Captain America in his hospital room.  
"I'm going to the cafeteria for some coffee. Can I get either of you two anything?" Natasha immediately replied,  
"Black coffee for me, please. Thanks, Steve."  
"Uh-" Clint still seemed surprised to have a super soldier waiting on him as he mumbled, "I could use some ice water, if you're already going that way..."  
"No problem. I'll be back in a little bit." Steve showed himself out quietly, exchanging a knowing glance with Natasha as he left, prompting Clint to raise an eyebrow.  
"So since when-" Clint started, but Natasha just laughed back at him and shrugged.  
"I honestly couldn't tell you... Must have been something about the fall of SHIELD, and the Winter Soldier incident last year." She knew Steve had to be going through a lot of inner turmoil after the last year's events, particularly in finding out that his best friend in the world hadn't perished horribly as he'd thought before. "He called me one of the few people he could talk to... I guess we're friends." Clint smiled, slowly easing himself forward as Natasha fluffed his pillows up behind him.  
"Do I need to be worried?" He winked, elbowing Natasha slowly as she laughed back at him.  
"I think you're pretty safe in that department, champ." She elbowed him back, playfully. "Besides, he's not exactly my type." Clint leaned back, settling into his pillows again and allowing his eyes to begin to grow heavy once more.  
"Well, that's good to hear." He was having trouble keeping his eyelids open as she leaned down to plant a gentle, sincere kiss on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Tasha... I'm getting tired again-" Before he completely finished speaking, Clint's head had lolled forward slightly. Natasha sighed; she knew that a side-effect of the medications Clint had been given were something along these lines, but it didn't make it any easier to sit by and watch him fade in and out of consciousness every few minutes.  
***  
After another four days of healing and down-time, Clint was finally cleared to fly back to New York; he would have to be wheelchair-bound for at least another week before he was cleared to start a medical rehabilitation physical therapy program at the SHIELD medical offices, but Natasha was prepared to stay with him and help take care of him in the interim. Steve and Sam had left the first full day Clint had been conscious, Steve having had some particularly colorful discussions and debates with Clint over the course of the few days they'd spent together. They were familiar with each other, now, and it surprised Natasha just how well the two men got along, when they wanted to.  
***


End file.
